Your instructions, your errors and appeals,
Until the waiting, anxious litigant feels
That the door of the temple of justice is locked;
And his chance of right is securely blocked.
Your free legal aid and your festive welfare board,
Their matrons and clerks, a mighty hungry hoard,
Impose upon the payers of taxes a weighty load;
All for the purpose of sending over the road
Some unfortunate victim of their own slimy graft
Or some poor devil whom they kick “fore and aft.”